by Robin Leaf
“No one gets backstage.”
“Stand down, Coop,” a male voice says over my shoulder.
Robo-guard wisely and obediently nods and steps aside while I flip through the curtain. I can feel people enter behind me, but I’m too focused on getting to Vanessa to pay attention to anyone following me.
My eyes search the area quickly. About twenty feet away, I see about three or four guys standing shoulder to shoulder in a line facing outward, which is weird. Something tells me to make my way that direction.
“Oh God.” Vanessa’s voice faintly travels over the pretty boys. “Shit. Just fucking stop.”
In about three strides, I’m there, about to break through the unimpressive meat wall, which is not enough to stop me.
“Dude!” I look over to see Beck emerge from around the corner. He moves in my path, which is really not fucking smart. “She’s fine.”
If he’s there, then what the fuck is… “Vanessa?”
“Thank God, Dugger. Did you bring it?”
I look to Beck, and he shrugs. “Bring what?”
“This,” Emily hisses, as she slides in next to me, handing Vanessa’s black bag to her over the shoulder of a shorter dancer. “She texted me right after she got off stage.”
“Thank God. I’m so morbidly embarrassed,” Vanessa whines. “Whose breasts leak during a lap dance?”
One of the kids standing guard snickers. “It’s way more common than you’d think. I got leaked on last week.”
“Yeah,” another one of the dancers admits. “After my sister had her baby, she leaked all the time. She even shot me in the ear once.”
“Oh my God,” the oldest dancer, who looks to be about fifty and pretty fit for his age, pipes up, “When I was married, I woke up once in the middle of the night because I thought my ex-wife had pissed the bed, but it was just her leaky boobs.”
I’m confused still. “But why were you guys surrounding–”
“Because you can see through my shirt,” Vanessa whines, “and they were being gentlemen. It’s why Beck was kind enough to carry me off stage so the entire club couldn’t tell what happened. But I’d like to get hooked up soon.” She emerges from her human barrier with a baby blanket, those ones from the hospital, draped across her chest. “Beck?”
“Oh right, follow me.” He turns over his shoulder, addressing Vanessa, “I even got you a new t-shirt to put on.”
Emily and our entourage follow behind Beck leading Vanessa to the dressing room.
“I wondered if y’all have stock in a white t-shirt company with how many y’all destroy each night,” Emily jokes.
“You’d think, huh? But I brought her one of my dark shirts.” He flashes some dimples at Vanessa, and she smiles. “That way, no one will see through it.”
“Aren’t you sweet?”
“Beck, wouldn’t she have more privacy this time of night in the practice room?” the guy Fionn brought with him asks.
“Yeah, that’s a good—Holy shit, Noah?”
Noah flashes an expression quickly, not sure if it’s a worried or embarrassed one, before he covers with a smile, but I can tell that he’s not happy that Beck recognizes him.
We get to the practice room, and Emily and Vanessa enter. “Give me fifteen, then we can get out of here, Dugger,” Vanessa says before shutting the door.
Noah and Beck are off to the side having a private conversation, which Noah is trying to keep quiet. For the first time, I notice Fionn is not here backstage. Therefore, I take what should be his place and stand guard in front of the door with my arms crossed. Beck and Noah shake hands and hug quickly, and Beck walks to the dressing room.
Noah looks at me for a few seconds before moving my direction. He produces his hand.
“Noah Reed.”
I shake his hand firmly and look him in the eye like my aunt taught me. “Douglass Van Cleef.”
“I noticed the girls call you Dugger.”
I clench my jaw, not sure if I want this guy calling me by my nickname. “It’s what my friends call me.”
He silently rubs his chin, either processing what I said or weighing his words. Smirking, he finally speaks.
“I’ve been watching you since I got here, Douglass, and I have to say you impressed me tonight.”
It doesn’t exactly go unnoticed that he didn’t try to call me Dugger, but it’s overshadowed by my shock. I have a hard time maintaining my mask, the one I’ve trained myself to wear no matter what is said to me. I feel it slip; I can’t recall if I’ve ever heard anyone say they were impressed by anything I’ve done before. It seems to be a first.
He continues. “You seem to have natural protective instincts. I watched you watch the situation, and you reacted before it was obvious there was a problem. You read Vanessa correctly. She was panicking, so without thinking, you jumped in to save her at possible cost to your own safety.”
My own safety?
“Are you talking about robo-guard out there? He was not a threat.”
“He’s a former Army Ranger, with specialized training in hand-to-hand combat.” He smiles.
“Trust me. He would have won.”
“And yet, he’s a security guard… for this place?” I chuckle. “I guess the women here get pretty crazy, huh?”
Noah smiles. “He’s on loan from my company. The guard he’s temporarily replacing is on paternity leave.” His feet shift, and he glances away for the tiniest second. “I’m friends with the owner here.”
Either he lied, or he’s covering. I’m not sure which. I tighten my arms over my chest.
“I would like to offer you a job.” He produces a card. “I own a security firm, and one of the things we provide is bodyguard services. We will train you, but I must say that it’s rare to find someone with your instincts.”
I smile as I accept his card. “Like how I recognized that you don’t want anyone to know the specifics of your friendship with Beck?”
His eyebrows shoot high on his forehead. Stepping back, he grinds his jaw quickly despite his smile while his eyes dart to where Beck was a few moments ago.
“We met… through my girlfriend a few years ago.”
That pause makes me cross my arms over my chest again, not buying it. He’s either lying or not telling the whole truth. I kinda like making him uncomfortable, so I decide to fuck with him. I know the answer to my next question is no, but I decide to ask it just to see how he’ll react.
Smirking, I ask, “So, he’s her ex?”
“Oh, God no,” he rushes out, before he takes a deep breath. “She actually didn’t care much for him.” His hand runs over his head, staring at me for a second before his smile grows. “Your line of questioning is just proving my point.”
“You know, you could just tell me the truth.”
He grabs my arm and pulls me away from the practice room, lowering his voice. “I did an undercover job here a few years ago looking for someone dealing out of the club. Beck was a new dancer, and Cristiana was the choreographer at the time. She thought Beck was guilty.” He shrugs. “He wasn’t.”
Chuckling, I find I like this story. “So this is how you met your girlfriend? Dancing in a strip joint?”
He shakes his head. “No, we knew each other in high school, but it’s how we reconnected.” His smile becomes filled with that goofy love look that Tater gets when he thinks of Emily. “She actually recommended me for the job.”
I think I hate that fucking goofy love look, maybe because I’ve never had a reason to make it.
I make sure the mask I wear is secured with a semi-sincere smile.
“I really appreciate the offer, Noah, but I’m not sure I want to leave my current job.”
He nods. “Hey, that’s totally understandable. But if you ever need a change, just give me a call.”
I contemplate ditching the card as soon as I can get away with it, but the words that tiny girl said outside ring in my head.
Maybe a change is still all you need. Fig
ure out what you can change, focus on that, and kick it in the ass.
I stick the card in my wallet, just in time for the girls to emerge from the room.
“Ladies,” Noah nods toward me. “It’s obvious you are in good hands. Have a good evening.” He turns to walk away with a wave.
Vanessa sighs. “I forget that I married someone famous. I’m sorry for dragging you into it, Dugger.”
I smile. “That’s not –”
“And because you were so awesome about it, I forgive you for lying to me,” she adds, shouldering her bag and walking past us. Emily and I follow.
I notice Emily’s guilty glance at me, so I narrow my eyes at her. “I don’t believe I did,” I tell Vanessa.
She grunts. “Well, whoever’s at fault, I thought my drink had alcohol, and neither one of y’all corrected me. Ergo, you both lied. Emily fessed up so I didn’t dump after I pumped.” She sighs, pushing open the door the dancers use to leave. “I’m a little bummed to learn that the placebo effect is real. God, I feel like an ass.”
I stop her and turn her toward us. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. Right up until Beck’s arm grazed my boob, and they both thought it was feeding time and decided to spring a leak and try to drench the entire front row.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “That’s not exactly the way it went down. Besides, no one noticed. And you got your wish of not only a lap dance, but one on stage by the featured dancer.”
“And,” Emily interrupts, “he was just one of a bevy of hot men who came to your rescue, which made you the envy of all the women in there.”
Vanessa moves her mouth to the side in an effort to hide her smile.
“That was kind of cool,” she agrees, blushing. “But I’m no damsel.”
“Of course not,” I scoff. “You’re a badass mom who kicked ass at blowing off some steam.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I kinda did, didn’t I?”
She beams and skips ahead of us to the car.
“Damn,” Emily says under her breath.
I turn toward her, raising my eyebrow. “What?”
“I want to know how do you do that,” she points toward Vanessa.
“Do what?”
She wraps her hand around my elbow and slows her steps. “You have this amazing ability to know exactly what someone needs.”
I shrug. “I just pay attention.”
“No, Dugger,” she shakes my arm. “It’s more than that. You’re like a friggin ray of sunshine on a chilly day.”
That makes me laugh out loud. “That was corny.”
She smiles. “It doesn’t make it any less true. You are the uncorny equivalent of whatever I just said. You make people feel better when you’re around. And I get that it might begin to feel like a burden to take on the task of being other people’s sunshine. I imagine that sometimes, you have to allow the cloud cover so you can recharge.” Leaning in, she rests her head on my bicep. “And tonight, you helped Vanessa and ignored what you need. I fear that whatever’s going on with you lately is more serious than a cloud.” She pulls on my arm so that I’ll look at her. “I don’t want your light to burn out.”
I shrug out of her hold and dig in my pocket for my keys. “Helping other people helps me.”
She stops, placing her hands on her hips sassily. “Yeah, it helps you avoid shit, Dugger.”
We arrive at the car, and Vanessa is leaning against it looking very sleepy. Once I unlock the doors, she opens her door and falls in the backseat.
“Tonight was supposed to be about us helping you. You don’t want our help, fine. I’m done forcing it on you. But you should try using that superpower you have to figure out what you need for once.” She opens the passenger door, looking at me the way my Aunt Tara used to right before she’d send me to my room for hiding my vegetables in my napkin. “Because it’s certainly not drinking yourself into a coma to avoid the rest of the world.”
~ ~ ~
“It’s good to see you, bud,” Tater says, hugging me.
“Yes,” Shayla, our receptionist and tattoo intern, agrees, patting me on the arm. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
I smile and watch her get back to her drawing of what looks like a girl emerging from a fire, like a fairy phoenix. The girl is crazy talented. Tater hired her sight unseen simply by finding her through a random hashtag search on Instagram about six months ago. She comes from a pretty sheltered existence somewhere in the South, one of those Gulf Coast states, and actually grew up on a ranch surrounded by livestock and shit. She moved to L.A. a year ago to follow her dream of becoming a tattoo artist.
“Emily had quite the good time last night,” Tater tells me while cleaning his station. “Thanks for taking her out.” He moves back to arranging the ink bottles, checking the levels to see which ones he needs to restock.
“Wait,” Shayla says, dropping her pencil and grabbing her huge water mug. “Are you seriously thanking him for taking your wife… on a date?”
I lean against the counter and say, “It wasn’t a date,” at the same time Tater says, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”
She turns around, leaning back against the opposite counter, trying really hard to not appear affected by Tater’s announcement. “Where’d you take her?” Lifting her cup, she takes a long drag off the straw.
“A strip club,” Tater nonchalantly answers before I can. I was simply going to say a bar, but sure, T, why not shock the girl?
She leans forward so the water coming out of her nose doesn’t go down her front and coughs for a few seconds.
“I’ll never understand your relationship. You guys are just weird.”
“Actually, I accompanied Emily and Vanessa on a girls’ night out. Remember, Vanessa is married to Riley Tate, so I kind of acted like a bodyguard.”
She takes another drink of her water to settle her throat. “I guess that’s not so weird.”
“Do you have more to show me?” I ask her.
Her demeanor changes to one of an excited puppy. “Yeah, I’ve gotten twelve more done.”
One of the deals Tater made with her is to see art she can create on paper in the different styles of tattooing. He never made me do this shit, but I’m not an artist. I do the simple tattoos… a heart here, a flower there, typically the ones for which we already have a stock pile of pre-made stencils on the computer. I can outline and fill in with the best of them, but my creativity is not Tater-level. Not even close.
This girl opens her notebook and plops it in my lap. Damn, flipping through the protective sleeves, I’m in awe of her abilities. I know it’s different to draw on paper than it is to draw on flesh, but she just about nails all the assignments Tater gives to her. I make it to her newest designs, and one captures my interest. It’s spiraling, unraveling barbed skin around a heart surrounded in a blue mist, and it reminds me of the faces that M. C. Escher did.
“I want you to do this on me when you’re ready.”
“Really?” she asks, all cute and hopeful.
I nod. “Has Tater let you tattoo a real person yet?”
She blushes. “No. He says I can’t until I give one to myself, but I actually did this design on a piece of practice skin.”
She bounces to her desk and produces a silicone strip. The tattoo is almost perfectly executed, so she will be ready soon.
“This is really good. So what’s the hold up on tattooing yourself?”
She looks down at her feet, blushing harder than I’ve ever seen anyone blush.
“Don’t tell me you’re a tattoo virgin?” She nods without looking up. I lift her chin with my fingers and ask gently, “Sweets, how do you expect people to let you tattoo them if you don’t have any ink yourself?”
She shrugs.
“Do you even want a tattoo?”
She nods. “More than anything.”
“Then what’s the holdup?”
Looking down at her Chucks, she blushes again. “I’m terrified of the pain.”
>
“Tell ya what. Go pick something easy and small, and we’ll put it in an area that’s not so painful. I’ll talk you through it, and you can stop me if it gets to be too much.”
Smiling, she bounces. “Really?”
“Of course. I’ll be super gentle, I promise.”
Five
Ember
“And then right after we decide who is going to tell the distraught woman who was brought in with him that her fiancé didn’t make it, his actual wife showed up, demanding to see her husband,” Beckie explains, pouring herself her one-a-day allowed cup of coffee. Her little baby bump is finally showing.
“No fucking way.”
Beckie just worked the night shift, but Sandra asked her to cover the first four hours of Sandra’s shift so she can attend her son’s little league baseball game. Even pregnant, Beckie does shit like that all the time, often insisting she’ll cover without being asked, but that’s not why we’re friends. She is the most trustworthy, awesomest person on the planet. Hands down.
She turns and leans against the counter, pulling the cup to her lips. “Yup. The wife went ape shit attacking the other woman and had to be physically removed. While I treated the first woman’s scratches and black eye, she claimed to be his fiancée and said she had no idea he was already married. The police said the wife was clueless, too.”
I blink, letting that sink in. “Holy cheating asshole, Batman.”
“Well, he did have a massive heart attack while having sex.” She giggles. “That’s not exactly a happy ending.”
“It’s karma, baby,” I spit, feeling a little bitter about cheaters.
“I feel bad for both the women though.”
Pulling my special rainbow unicorn mug, complete with horn, from the microwave, I sigh. “Jesus, Beckie, all the fun stuff happens on your shifts.”
She smiles around her mug. “Yeah, but you got to get a lap dance and scare a poor young stripper into thinking he has cancer.”
I place my tea bag in the mug of hot water and dunk it up and down. “I wish you could have come with us, but c’mon, your little spousal squabble was way more interesting. Plus, you’ve treated famous people. You saved that hot Army stud who begged you for a date and ended up marrying you and knocking you up, and now you got to see this?” Taking a drink of my tea, I sigh. “The best stories I have are of a broken penis from drunken reverse cowgirl and the guy with the shattered Christmas bulb that somehow made it three inches deep in his rectum because he, quote, ‘accidentally fell on it.’”